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Currently (2020) my most updated blog is pinkfeldspar.

Spaz is a useful side blog for sorting other stuff out.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

liking the pain

"You're gonna feel it."

Yeah, no, they weren't kiddingNeurological Exams: Sensory Nerves and Deep Tendon Reflexes

My arms are really bad. Super bad. I've lived with it so long that I don't even count my arms in a pain level assessment, so they've always been missed until now. If there were a word for severe carpal tunnel down both arms, that would be it. I ignore it because I can still force them to function, right? Arms aren't as important as migraines or invisible arrows stabbing my feet or walking doubled down over unidentified gut pain. And not every day is that bad, but I guess it's not cool to ignore pain until everything goes numb, except for the tingly prickly sensations. It's not numb at all, I'm finding out. One little tiny squeeze in the right spot made part of my hand ache for hours. I could barely hold my steering wheel or open a door just after a simple assessment.

Top on the priority list is finding out whether this is nerve entrapment, and if so, where does the entrapment lie? Entrapment is mostly a soft tissue problem and can sometimes be helped with vigorous deep tissue restructuring via micro shredding hardened fascia tissues around the muscles, allowing better blood flow while healing fascia grows in stretchier, all of this relieving pressure on whatever nerve runs through. This can happen clear back to the spinal column, so the deep tissue work I'm going through involves every inch from the palms of my hands all the way back to my spine beneath my skull down to my upper mid back and around my shoulder blades. We've done this before, but with different intentions.

If nerve entrapment is not identified, we'll be moving on to other experiments. My personal goal is to find out whether the pain and tissue hardening is ultimately an autoimmune response affecting my nervous system, since this seems to be a system-wide problem. I've definitely got the 'severe fibromyalgia' diagnosis from several doctors, but they still quibble over the autoimmune part, even though they automatically treat for it when it arises. I've yet to get a specific diagnosis beyond a generalized maybe lupus from a speckled ANA pattern and high SEDs, even though I've exhibited a number of outlying markers for autoimmune problems.

One of the next priorities if there is no specific identification for nerve entrapment will be more imaging to find out if there is nerve scarring. I already know there is a little bit and I've had some of it for a long time, but if it's not noticeably increasing, I'll probably just stay in the fibromyalgia category and keep working on maintaining the flexibility and mobility I've managed to gain back. So far I've been told there seems to be no degeneration in specific areas already checked, which is awesome, but doesn't mean there couldn't be over time. However, since I've spent most of my adult life with whatever this is and my condition and function are actually improving as long as I keep working on them, I don't expect to get much more in the way of answers, although I am hoping to rule out autoiummune complications from exercise.

I knew going into it this time I would have to buckle up for a deeper dive back into pain in order to learn more about it. I am in a LOT of pain, but I keep asking myself, Since when have I not been? I acclimate to a certain kind or level of pain and fuss when it increases a bit, but I'm learning to venture out into pain changes, and even pain stimulation as part of an assessment and problem solving tool.

Nerve pain is very sucky. There are plenty of forums and blogs filled to brimming with people describing pain, so I see no reason to go into that here. I have learned in this life that there is no horrible pain that can't be replaced or overridden by even more horrible pain. Everything about pain is perspective, and that perspective has everything to do with a mixture of chemicals washing around miles and miles of nerve tissues and the way both inner and outer environment affect it. Pain may not have a 'reason', but it is always real. The funny thing about 'real', though, is that a pain syndrome, while not an accurate perception, perhaps, might actually be quite a lot more painful to live with in some ways than simply dealing with 'actual' pain from a disruptive event.

I tell people it's not a contest. We all hurt because pain sucks. If pain stops or even if the pain level goes down, hooray! But some people know that the absence of pain isn't always the goal. The relief from pain is always high on the priority list, but sometimes the only way to get relief is to do more damage so that we simply can't feel it.

I live with what's lovingly called the suicide disease, and that is just one small part of a whole body that experiences never ending pain. I'm a pain pro. I've come to love and enjoy certain pain levels because it forces my brain to pump out unbelievable amounts of the kinds of chemicals people like to artificially induce to get high. When my pain level drops even slightly, I walk around high as a kite. It took a bit of training to learn how to do this, which means I voluntarily jump in and out of very rigorous physical therapies that over short term increase and stimulate pain while I learn how to control and even manipulate pain back down to lower levels. I use my body to get high. This might sound like I'm a pain freak, but since most of my medications either stopped working for me years ago or complicated into even worse health problems, using my own natural pain chemicals is actually a good idea, I think.

My physical therapy team is excited. The buzz about me behind my back is that it's bad and I still want more. I even go through it cheerfully. They're excited. This is what they trained for, someone who lets them go all the way without wimping out. Someone who says "Keep digging" when a tool is tearing little holes through tissue up and down their body. Someone who says "Cool" when a new sheet of homework full of new stretches and flexes and core reps is handed to them. Someone who likes the pain.

I feel like the Rambo of the physical therapy center. The only problem is, anyone could take me down in a second if they knew the right places to squeeze. You never see a neurologist or nerve therapist rise up in popular television saving the day with a quick dart of the hand to exactly the right spot, while weapons clatter to the ground and baddies goes to their knees. The whole arm twist behind the back thing? If you don't hit the right nerve spot on me, I'll kill you. Pain means nothing to me. Gently touch the sweet spot, I'm all yours, on the floor nearly blacking out. You're welcome.

I really love my neuro-techies. I had no idea how addicted I am to pain until I started working with them. I hurt like suck right now and I'm floating, not a single pain pill in my body. I'm almost euphoric.

THAT is the secret behind super villains. At least this one.

Afterthought- I'm not mocking pain. There are several kinds and levels of very specific pain I hope I never go through again, but I'm not holding my breath. Also, I've never experienced being burned in a fire or gunshot, although I have experienced several violent accidents and injuries, including a spectacularly nasty car wreck. Like I said, not a contest. Everyone's pain is a very intimate path down a dark road all alone, and it is through pain that we burn the chaff and find our gold. By the way, weeping alone in despair is part of the finding the gold part. It's a riddle that we find our strength through our weakest moments, just as we find our calm in the biggest storms.

Friday, October 16, 2015

I should be dancing

My physical therapy homework until I go back in a couple weeks to dive back into deep tissue therapy via aggressive ASTYM (basically, targeted micro-shredding to induce directed healing) is neural glides for my old friends (and yours), the median, radial, and ulnar nerve branches that run down the length of our arms. I knew my hands were hurting, but holy cow. And that was just the opener.

The goal going back in is simple- to experiment. Also to keep improving, but the reason my doctor approved MOAR is so a professional can observe how I trigger upper core flares (a wall I've kept hitting for years that we haven't broken through yet, resulting in 10-level pain and nasty headaches), figure out if she can fix that problem (deep tissue work, pinpointing problematic nerve dysfunction, if any), and if not, go back to my doctor during a flare and get the kind of bloodwork that would determine whether I'm actually stimulating autoimmune response (which would need medical treatment to control) or just kicking off a really badass fibro feedback flare that no one knows what to do with any more.

Quick review if you're new to me- I was told in my mid-20's before the word 'fibrositis' became medically fashionable (pre-fibro days) that I would wind up in a nursing home by my 40's because there is no cure. I watched my mother do exactly that (not as quickly as her 40's, thanks to pain pills and stuff), slowly paralyzing into severe 'frozen shoulders' and deficits until she was completely disabled. A few decades ago it wasn't uncommon to see older people's arms and hands curl up into hardened knots until they couldn't even hold something, mostly passed off as an arthritic condition. I got my first muscle contracture down my left arm during nursing school, but since I was learning all about contractures, I used my jeans pocket to hook a finger on while I'd casually stretch-flex my wrist to pull that muscle out without anyone noticing what I was doing, and over a couple of months the contracture eased up and disappeared. I only happened to notice it one day because I looked down and saw that, even though my arm was hanging straight down, my hand was cinched up crooked at my wrist. It didn't hurt at all at the time. If I hadn't know what it was, I'd have blown it off and it would've gotten worse.

Because of nursing school, I've been very aware of what's going on in my body over time and have been able to communicate well with people helping me with my medical difficulties. Most of my progress the last seven years is me making the decision that I want to be as functional as I can for as long as I can, no matter what the cost, even if I go through more pain doing it. I had nothing left to lose by the time I made that decision.

Today's assessment was one of the most validating I've ever been through. It's nice that a person can see from my history that I'm willing to do anything to improve, which means I'm actively willing to allow someone to cause me more pain in order to gain more control over the pain I live with. It took only seconds for her to determine I'm left-side weak and severely right-side nerve responsive. (Those few seconds made it really hard to make a quick stop at Target and then drive home, my arms felt so rough. She used the same moves Steven Seagal uses on perps, only more nicely.) The next steps will be to explore if and where I might have nerve entrapment and whether upper core strengthening will have anything to do with pain control or just keep making it worse.

If you need context, one of the questions was whether pain keeps me from reading books. YES. I cannot hold a book. I must use a table to hold the book or read from my laptop screen. Years of dropping things. No one really knows the love that goes into preparing meals when one can barely use their arms and fakes their way through it all pretending nothing is wrong. And, like I said, my hands are just the first step in the door.

A doctor told me one year I perfectly described ankylosing spondilitis, but there's no visible sign of it. Another doctor is convinced I had a Lyme event (I tested positive), but there is nothing anyone can do about it decades later. Another doctor kept checking me for multiple sclerosis. About 18 months or so ago, an ER doctor made sure I didn't have lupus involvement in my brain. I've been cleared for tumors, aneurysms, strokes, spinal fluid problems, and brain cancer so many times I've lost count.

Fibromyalgia isn't supposed to be progressive or a true inflammatory disease, 'just' a disorder (or two, or three) that isn't supposed to affect overall mortality. The incongruity of being comforted by someone saying "Well, at least it isn't killing you" when they have no answers is like telling someone who lost a limb in an accident "At least you didn't lose your life"- No, but you lost function, to which they reply Ah, but not really lose function, like a true progressive condition, to which I reply, Ah, but lost quality of life. I've lost so much more than a person who's lost a limb.

When every move a person makes every single hour of every single day of every single week of every single month of every single year for decades is based on a unfortunately misinterpreted nervous system signal during an unapologetically long and miserable existence, one might question whether existence is even necessary, much less the kindness and charity we're supposed to develop along with it. Because, and I don't know about you guys, I feel like plowing through a placid crowd of movie goers like Ash with his chainsaw on most days. The argument over whether the pain is 'real' or not is ridiculously beside the point. Here, step into my body for a few minutes...

So when a physical therapist actually looks thrilled that I'm clearly begging her to hurt me even more so that she can do her job better, and she can tell that I'll actually be an enthusiastic compliant cooperative patient instead of the usual crabby drudge that drops out before they get anywhere because 'it hurts', I know I've made someone's day. It was like handing her chocolate cake and tickets to a Halloween screamfest or something. All grins. I think she's going to be my favorite.

Yes, IT HURTS. But every single day of my life HURTS, and every single thing I do HURTS, so why not explore just how far I can go with this? It's going to hurt anyway, for crying out loud.

This is my head when I find people who are willing to go into my pain with me and help me find ways to keep living with it, ways to control it, and even ways to improve it. Yes, it takes years and the kind of determination that makes regular people quail and cringe, but until the day I die, I want this to be me in my head.

Hugs to anyone reading this who hurts. We can do this. Especially in our heads.